


Reflection

by PKRS



Category: Original Work, Pokemon
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, this is either the best thing i've ever done or the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PKRS/pseuds/PKRS
Summary: A series of miscommunications can often be catastrophic... or, rarely, they result in a crew of almost-reality show contestants growing closer together due to the allure of the object of said miscommunications.(That doesn't mean Marta has to be happy about it.)





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Region Trotters: Johto Jeopardies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168899) by [CoGreen20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoGreen20/pseuds/CoGreen20). 



> (WHEN WILL MY REFLECTION SHOOOOOOW WHO I AM INSIIIIIIDE)
> 
> This entire story was a joke from the Region Trotters Discord taken too far because for some reason I was like, "I'm gonna write a one-shot", and then I wrote 18 thousand words.
> 
> You don't necessarily need to have read RT to read this fic, by the way! However, it IS entirely original characters, so be prepared. (And like, Chris and Chef from Total Drama, it's a long story as to WHY they're there but they're barely relevant.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Yuri-chan Hanazawa is a simple girl, trying to escape the stresses of the local K.I.T.S. program to join a similarly stressful reality show (that hasn’t technically started yet) and prove her worth! At least, that’s what she tells herself to sleep at night, or sometimes in the day now that she doesn’t have to go through a one-hour regimen just to prepare for sleep and it makes a lot more sense to take naps during the day.

She lies in bed, squeaking softly as the trailer comes to a halt at a traffic light. Everyone and everything in the trailer moves forward gently, swaying again as Chef speeds up again. Oh, how was she supposed to prepare for this? Nothing in the program had ever taught her about the routine you needed to do to take a nap in a trailer! What if she’s doing this wrong? What will the sisters say if they find out about this?? Oh geez oh _gosh_.

Forget it. Yuri-chan rolls out of her blanket and its warm comforting embrace. Well, not quite warm, because of all of the “only one blanket per person” rule back at the studio. If there was any rule that Yuri-chan knew about sleeping, it was that one, so she has to be doing that right? Hopefully? Either way, the heat is unbearable! There’s no need for this blanket now! With a maybe-not-too-disgruntled sigh, Yuri-chan sits up and folds her blanket back so she can meditate.

Focus. Fooocuuus. Meditation means slipping into a state of obliviousness to the point where one can reflect upon themselves and all their shortcomings. Yuri-chan has many, many shortcomings. Her selfishness, her lack of devotion to her goals and her life, her meekness, her lack of ability to train Pokemon, her general appearance… the list goes on. Actually, this isn’t helping.

“Hey. Hey, you.”

The voice, aggressive and direct (though barely audible), shatters Yuri-chan’s carefully-structured frame of mind in an instant. Startled, she opens her eyes to look around her at the other contestants around her. Most everyone is sitting on their bunks, doing their various individual activities. Vecepia in particular is taking a nap as Keira fans her periodically, stitching together a broken Pokedoll between fans. Jealousy stabs at Yuri-chan - how is it fair that Vee can have a maid? She doesn’t deserve to have Keira’s services any more than the rest of them do - no no no nevermind quash that down bad Yuri-chan.

“You suck, do you know that?”

That faint voice sounds a lot like Marta, actually. Yuri-chan shudders to think of how many times she’s had to flip her bunkmate; if only Marta would stop sneaking up on her then maybe things would go a little less wrong! Maybe she won’t get hurt if she doesn’t keep doing… whatever it is that she does. Marta’s special.

Wait, if Yuri-chan’s own bunkmate is going out of her way to insult something to vent just outside of Yuri-chan’s range of hearing, then oooooHHH NOOO SHE DID SOMETHING WRONG MARTA (and everyone else) PROBABLY HATES HER -

“You with your stupid posse and your DAMN high and mighty attitude, yeah, like you’re gonna get everyone to love you or something? Mhm, and you act like don’t even remember all the absolute s*** things you’ve done. I read Wikipedia!”

Uh...

Okay, that’s… a little intriguing and sort of weirdly specific. And concerning. Investigate? Don’t investigate? It’s probably none of her business, but....

Quietly, Yuri-chan slinks over to the bathroom, where Marta’s voice seem to be coming from. It’s probably not a good idea to eavesdrop. No. Definitely not. Oh, she’s gonna get in so much trouble for this, but... maybe if she just pretends she’s going to use the bathroom…?

Opening the bathroom door reveals a very disgruntled Marta, now standing on tiptoes and bracing herself against the sink to peer closer at her reflection. Marta, evidently aware that she now has a witness, glares into the mirror, muttering soft curses under her breath. Oh, um. Marta is. Definitely special, alright. Oh no, is she looking at Yuri?? Not good. Not good.

Just as Yuri-chan catches the reflection of Marta opening her mouth, she blurts out, “U-uh! I was j-just checking, you were kinda - kinda being loud and angry and I was worried-d and I was just checking to make sure you were okay I’m so sorry please don’t try to punch me o-or get me to flip you this is a BATHROOM and I! I’m sorry!”

(Good. Yes. Marta is probably okay with this explanation.)

A long, slow blink from Marta. She opens her mouth to speak again, and a billion possibilities (all of them AWFUL BAD BAD BAD and making alarms go off) flash through Yuri-chan’s mind. Oh no. Marta’s probably going to try and start a conflict or fistfight right here and now and Yuri-chan’s not ready for that!! Her heartbeat pounds through her head, a panicked rabbit of a pulse, as she forces herself to stay still to at least wait for Marta to reply. She owes her this much.

“Okay,” Marta says, turning to face Yuri-chan. “It’s fine! But you didn’t hear TOO much, r-”

HA HA YURI PROBABLY HEARD TOO MUCH TIME TO PANIC!!

Yuri-chan barely registers flipping Marta to the floor and her startled expression before bolting out the bathroom door to hide under the covers. Auuuugh. This was a mistake! Everything was a mistake! Life was a mistake! Coming here was a mistake! Yuri-chan herself was a mistake! Huddling in a ball under her one very thin blanket? Possibly the biggest mistake yet! There is really nothing to do now but pray that Marta doesn’t try to fight her again, because last time THAT happened while on the road Chef came back and yelled at them and it was scary!!!

Someone taps her on the shoulder. In a mess of blankets and frightened screaming, Yuri-chan shoves them away and yanks off the blanket to find out that it is, indeed, a grinning Marta.

This afternoon doesn’t seem like it’s going to be fun.

* * *

Personally, Ruth would greatly appreciate it if Marta and Yuri didn’t try to have a scuffle every other hour. Or, more specifically, if Yuri didn’t scare so easily so that she wouldn’t flip Marta over her shoulder, prompting Marta to punch her. It certainly made it hard to read this really nice novel on grand, sweeping romances or whatever this novel was trying to be, not that she was complaining about its indecisiveness. Whatever it was, she could never let anyone know what this book was really about.

Now that Yuri finally fell asleep and Ferrum got Keira to keep people from waking her up, Marta’s back in the bathroom, whispering what Ruth supposes to be sweet nothings to the mirror. Ruth rolls her eyes, injecting as much contempt as she possibly can into the gesture. Typical girls, always getting hung up on the mirror and their reflection and makeup and what-have-you. Sure, Marta forcefully INSISTS that none of the makeup around the sink is hers, but you never know.

“You’re just another stupid pop star! You have no awareness of the EFFECT you have on other people! On top of that, your music is GARBAGE!!”

Ruth winces at the more than audible harsh language and turns a page. The mirror must have done a lot to deserve Marta’s wrath. Surely its music isn’t THAT bad? Maybe Marta just needs to give it a chance or something. Unless, of course, she’s still arguing with her reflection, but it’s funnier to interpret that she’s literally yelling at the mirror itself. Entertainment is already scarce on this road trip.

“I hate you and everything you stand for and I hope you know that, prissy boy!”

Subconsciously, Ruth recognizes that Marta is continuing to hiss rants at the mirror. What’s so important that she had to close the bathroom door for this, anyway? But as tempted as she is to keep eavesdropping on this ongoing soap opera between Marta and the mirror, the grand adventures of Telan the knight and his fair-haired maiden await.

She flips another page, then flips back as she realizes that she didn’t actually read any of the page she just flipped.

Aw, heck.

* * *

 It’s always a good time to rock! That’s Cass’s personal motto, which she is VERY proud of. More specifically, the best time to rock is when no one expects it! Because then they get BLOWN AWAY by the sheer power of guitar riffs! Logan certainly seemed to appreciate it! (If you counted “looked really surprised and all the flowers in his hair flew away” as “appreciative” which Cass totally does. She’ll make a bandmate out of him yet.)

And like, the best part? He even sang a few improv tunes for her to listen to and record for reference, which is EFFING SICK. Who else can claim they personally got songs and a tutoring session from _Logan Diamond_ to listen to and understand his music composition? No one, that’s who! (She’s pretty sure.)

Cass whistles as she completely ignores the mess of toothbrushes and soaps around the sink, peering into the mirror and slicking a hand through her greasy, greasy hair. Maybe she should get around to washing it one of these days. Mm, nah. It can wait. There’s more important stuff to do, anyway. Like rock. Yes. Dang it, she should have been the rock-type specialist! That would have been so cool, maybe she could have found a way to get like an Alolan Geodude for MAXIMUM ROCK. Both in the electric-guitar electricity sense and the literal rock sense.

For now, the most important priority is trying to style her hair as best as she can with this massive amount of gunk in it. Ah, the joys of sleeping in and being a teenager with oily hair and bad hygiene! Cass taps the mirror and points finger guns to her reflection.

“Looking good, gorgeous!” she chirps, then pauses to adjust the mirror and oh haha why’d she just do that the mirror is affixed to the wall. That was silly, except - whoa did it just move a little? That’s… weird.

Much like a curious cat, Cassandra pushes the mirror to the side to reveal a medicine cabinet filled with a few knickknacks and medicine bottles. Ew! Is that Chris’s deodorant? A giggle bubbles up in her chest and she’s gotta resist the urge to laugh. Too late. There went a tiny one.

Dang, this is a find. Maybe she should keep this for herself? Like, a hiding spot. Yessss. In fact, she has just the thing to put in this medicine cabinet to make it truly hers. Grinning so widely that she thinks she’ll split her face, Cassandra sticks her voice recorder with her personal “for inspiration” Logan Diamond tunes into the back. Excellent. It’s her cabinet now, scrubs!

With that, Cassandra closes the cabinet door and heads out, her morning routine completed. Man, hopefully she won’t forget about that little recorder. She’ll need it later.

* * *

Late one night, as Chef drives the trailer through the outskirts of Goldenrod City, Keira finally decides to ask about the elephant in the room.

“Miss Denning? May I ask you something?” she asks, pleasant as ever. Curiosity isn’t necessarily rewarded back at Mr. Backlot’s mansion, so she feels it to be natural that she be a bit hesitant while posing questions.

Miss Denning, for her part, is still reading that purple prose that she seems all too attached to, despite the fact that the hour is approaching 11 pm and nearly everyone else is asleep by this point. Keira, of course, doesn’t question her taste in literature or her taste in when to read it. It simply isn’t her place. “Yeah, what’s up?” she asks back, evidently distracted, but Keira forges on.

“Why does Marta keep talking to the mirror? Is she preparing for an argument?”

“She hates the mirror for being a pop star and thinks its music sucks,” Miss Denning replies without missing a beat. Keira tilts her head slightly and processes this, then proceeds to turn to the bathroom. Miss Denning makes a noise that could possibly be interpreted as speech, but apparently decides otherwise. Good. Keira can’t handle being attentive in a conversation and cleaning at the same time.

The bathrooms are simple enough to clean for an experienced maid like her, of course. Each toilet barely takes a few minutes. Occasionally, Keira peeks outside of the bathroom to behold almost every other contestant snoozing peacefully, each time shrugging aside the thought of rest. She’ll only get a full three hours of sleep tonight if she’s lucky, but she doesn’t mind. Job training has made her resilient.

Minutes and then hours pass in a blur, and Keira estimates that it’s somewhere around 2 am when she finally pauses to admire her work. A dangerous habit, she knows, but Miss Justice ordered her to loosen up, and she believes that this falls into that category. Under Keira’s attention, the floors are spotless, the toilets clean and lemony fresh. Keira Nguyen is the best maid, and she won’t stand to hear otherwise. Now all that’s left is the sink.

Pour ceramic cleaner into the sink bowl, spray all-purpose cleaner onto the counters and wipe those down as the ceramic cleaner sinks (heh) in. Keira sprays some more cleaner onto the mirror and scrubs down the sink. The nice thing about cleaning is that one can let their thoughts wander. The not-nice thing about cleaning being a job is that there really isn’t much to let one’s thoughts wander to, and so she spends her evening totally focused on her task.

When she finally gets to the mirror, she takes care to polish it to a clean shine. Miss Hanes seems to have touched the mirror today with her greasy hands, which is no trouble, of course. Keira spritzes an extra spray of cleaner just to make sure that there will be no trace of her fingerprints. There’s a reason why maids wear gloves, she tuts in her head.

Finally finished with the bathroom, Keira pokes the mirror. “I appreciate your music,” she says softly and totally seriously.

She sees no reason at this time to doubt Miss Denning’s validity, and sees even less when the trailer hits a small bump and the mirror plays faint strains of guitar and a soft croon. Keira smiles.

“I wish you luck on your musical career,” she says, bowing a little to the mirror before collecting her cleaning materials to stick under the sink.

Next, to sweep the trailer floors and make sure that Spritomb is satiated before Keira can finally crawl into bed. Today has been a long day, but no longer than any other. And Keira can handle that.

* * *

Lady Ferrum Justice is, obviously, the pinnacle of reason and logic in this trailer. Years in Sir Wikstrom’s great knighthood program have taught her to be cool and calculated in everything she does, to be chivalrous and kind, to uphold the legacies and nobility of those knights that came before her, _PRO GLORIA ET HONORE SUPERIORUM AETATUM!_

But despite her perfectly reasonable approach to everything in life - and why would she not be reasonable, as the star student of the aforestated Sir Wikstrom - Ferrum is utterly baffled (bamboozled, in fact) by the sudden enrapturement of her fellow companions over a bathroom mirror. Keira and Lady Ryan have been spending increasingly worrying amounts of time in the bathroom, staring at the mirror and demanding (she presumes) to know more of its glamorous identity as a pop star. What folly hath come over them? Surely a mirror cannot sing any more than a tea kettle can, or perhaps a window. No, of course not. Mirrors are not sentient, no more than any other inanimate object.

Unless, perhaps, the mirror is not inanimate. After all, Ferrum has observed Keira listening intently to the mirror at odd hours of night, and quietly singing songs to it - songs that Ferrum has not heard outside of the trailer. Furthermore, there have been such stories of Ghost-type Pokemon and the like inhabiting antique objects. (Ferrum would know. She has a trusty Honedge.) Does the trailer bathroom mirror qualify as antique? Who knows how long McLean has had the trailer, in all honesty.

Regardless of its origins, she imagines it to only be polite to greet the mirror each and every time she walks past it.

“A fine afternoon to you, mirror!” she declares on this fine Tuesday, pausing to regard her (very handsome) reflection in the mirror. Somewhere behind her, a soft voice giggles. In their reflections, Lady Clermont bounces next to Ferrum to peer into the mirror as well.

“Ferrum,” Lady Clermont says, looking up to her with her wide and innocent eyes. “Are you talking to the mirror?”

“Why, of course, Lady Clermont,” Ferrum says, taken mildly aback. “Keira and Lady Ryan have taken to holding conversations with the mirror on various occasions, so why on earth should I not?”

“But it’s a mirror, isn’t it? Is it conscious?” Lady Clermont stares at her reflection and adjusts her hat. Ferrum chuckles at Vecepia and lays a heavy hand upon her shoulder.

“It is quite possible that it could be possessed by a Ghost-type Pokemon. After all, I do own a Honedge.” Ferrum glances at a smear on the mirror and frowns. Evidently Lady Hanes has been in the room again. “The Ghost-type Pokemon would certainly be an odd one, methinks. After all, it taught Keira to sing.”

“Sing?” With an adorable little gasp befitting of a young lady, Lady Clermont turns to face Ferrum. “Keira can sing? How lovely! Is she any good?”

“I... am not sure, to be frank,” Ferrum admits, but continues jovially before her charge’s expression can falter, “but you may certainly ask her to sing for you if you would like!”

Lady Clermont lets out a veritable squeal of excitement and zips out the door, Ferrum following at a slower pace. Before she leaves, however, she snaps off a quick salute to the mirror.

Any mirror that can unite two people from very different walks of life together, regardless of sentience, is most certainly one to be respected.

* * *

Most days, April isn’t fazed by all that much. A professional stuntswoman and daredevil doesn’t exactly get scared or surprised too easily, and when she does, she isn’t caught off guard for long. So when she finds Vecepia holed up in the bathroom, sitting on a fancy stool with yet another stack of books beside her, she’s confused but not quite surprised. Which probably has nothing to do with her profession, since this is the third time in two days or so and all that.

“Hey, Vee,” she says, letting her skates rumble across the floor as she slides over. Dang, that’s a good feel. Vee glances up at her from her book and waves as April glides to a halt. “Why do you keep bringing books into the bathroom?”

“Ferrum says that Keira and Marta keep talking to the mirror, and that maybe there’s a Ghost-type Pokemon living in it! Ghost-type Pokemon tend to like stimulation, so I thought it would be a good idea to read to it.” Triumphant, Vecepia holds up a small textbook. “And this is a great way to catch up on my studying, too! My tutors advised that I start looking into physics.”

“Niiiice.” April tries not to wince at the concept of studying conceptual physics and crouches down down next to her. “Maybe you should try and read it some fiction books instead.”

“Of course I will! I need to finish reading this chapter soon, but it can wait.” Vecepia puts a bookmark in her textbook and smiles. “Here, why don’t you sit down and join us? I can go and get another stool!”

Squinting slightly, April eyes the sink with a certain amount of hesitation. By all means, she should be sensible and get a stool. However and unfortunately for those means, the Bremen family was not known for their sensibility.

April leans against the sink and scoots herself up onto the edge, balancing delicately and letting her skates bounce against the side. “Who needs proper chairs?” she proclaims loudly to Vecepia’s giggles of amusement. “The sink is fine.” The trailer hits a sharp bump and April laughs with delight. If only she could install some kind of way to make it more dangerous around the sink… nah, no one else would appreciate that.

“What kind of novel do you think the mirror wants to hear?” Vecepia asks, pulling from the stack of books. “I’ve got typical romance novels, a few back issues of TrainerTalks, then this copy of _White Powder, Red Stain_ … Ooh! I have a few books from a series on the origins of Unova!”

“ _Crown and Shadow?_ Yeah, I heard that one’s pretty good.” April leans her head on her hand, regarding the mirror. “Plus, Unova has a looooot of Ghost-type Pokemon. Maybe this one would think it interesting to learn about the culture and heritage of other regions.”

“Of course!” Vecepia pulls a grey-backed novel out of the stack and opens the cover, coughing slightly at the wave of dust that flies up. “After this, we should read some picture books! It’s a mirror, so we could show it pictures!”

“Sounds fantastic. Take it away, Vee.” Smiling lazily, April kicks back and relaxes, letting herself be lost in the rise and fall of Vecepia’s speech. The stories of Zekrom and Reshiram had never sounded so enthralling.

* * *

With the force and fury of a thousand suns, Ruth storms into the bathroom. She scowls at her reflection for a few seconds and jabs a finger at it, only for her expression to soften and for her to close the bathroom door. A series of muffled sobs follows about five minutes later. Typical day, at this point.

Marta casts her gaze at the little groups of people scattered about the room, disrupting Natu from its slumber on her head. A while ago Yuri and Rise were conversing about something or other (probably Ho-oh) until Cassandra interrupted them to gesture excitedly to the bathroom, and now they’re all talking about the stupid mirror. For some unholy reason, Ferrum’s swinging her Honedge around. Keira’s cleaning, as usual, and April and Vecepia are talking about what to read to the mirror or something like that?

This is frankly getting ridiculous! She’s PRETTY SURE that talking to your reflection in the mirror is an ordinary “practice an argument and get worked up over nothing” tactic. The mirror isn’t sentient! It’s not possessed, either! It’s just an ordinary mirror! Does no one realize this?

The sound of ugly muffled sobbing continues to drift out of the bathroom as Marta, in turn, continues to ignore it and feed Natu bird treats. It's not her problem. She doesn't care enough to deal with it. Natu, however, IS her problem, so she'll keep feeding it, thanks much.

Unfortunately, a rumbling noise draws her attention away from her head bird, and Marta looks up to find that - indeed - April has skated to the middle of the room. Barely fazed by the transition from sitting to skating, April cups her hands to her mouth and calls for everyone’s attention with a simple statement.

“Hey, does anyone know why Ruth is always holed up in the bathroom?”

“Evidently, she’s talking to the precious mirror you guys are so attached to,” Marta says, mostly sarcastic. April frowns at her, narrowing her eyes.

“Marta, I’m serious.”

“I’m serious too! It’s just a mirror!”

“Riiight. So we should listen to the girl with a bird on her head.” Marta scowls at the assessment as April continues. April doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Birds are great hats. “Mirror aside, she’s been in there for ten minutes and constantly groans out ‘MIRROR, YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE THAT UNDERSTANDS ME’.”

“That’s not ‘mirror aside’, you’re still talking about it.”

“Does anyone else who’s not Marta have anything productive to say about this?” Marta continues to scowl, warily watching April scan the room. They’re _in denial_ about the inanimate state of a mirror. She can’t believe this. “Rise! Thank you.”

“Maybe she’s praying!” Rise says brightly. “It could definitely be possible that she’s performing a sort of ritual to the mirror.”

“Actually, that’s a good idea!” Vecepia chimes in. “We should convert the sink into a shrine to the mirror!”

“Excellent! I can bless it in the name of Ho-oh when we’re done!” Rise beams with her sheer brilliance and Marta has to resist the urge to punch somebody. Possibly herself. How would that work, anyway? As the Psychic-type specialist, it’s definitely her responsibility to sort that out at some point just in case she ever needs to tell someone to punch themselves.

Cassandra waves her hand in the air. “Ooh, maybe I can compose a ballad for it! I’ve actually heard it sing,” she adds conspiratorially.

“So have I,” Keira says, sounding mildly surprised. “I thought it only does that at night. Perhaps it’s too shy to perform for a crowd?”

“I-I would be too.” Yuri looks surprised to be speaking, and looks ready to shrink into her blankets. Such a powerful force of flipping shouldn’t be so timid, really. Hopefully she’ll grow out of it!

“Understandable, have a great day.” Cassandra grins and rakes a hand through her hair, then grabs her guitar and plucks out a few notes. “Hey, Keira, if I do plan on writing that ballad, do you wanna sing with me?”

With a look of surprise, almost taken aback, Keira blinks. “If it’s allowed of me, and if you ask me to, I shall.”

“Yeah, but do you WANT to?” April points out.

“I wish to serve as best as I can.” Keira tilts her head. “If that means I must sing, then so be it.”

Finally stopping her showing off or whatever, Ferrum drops her Honedge, which floats by her side. “Keira, you don’t need to sing if you don’t want to,” she says, rather wary. “This subservient attitude will not serve you well.”

“But for real, what’s up with Ruth?” Cassandra asks as if the question had not been posed a few seconds ago.

“Has anyone considered,” Marta says, starting to despair, “that maybe Ruth is just venting to the mirror about her life and insecurities? Because you usually talk to a mirror like it’s another person? Like when you argue with it?”

The rest of the people in the trailer stare at her for a long, slow minute, before Carl Parkinson slowly sticks his head in the window next to Yuri.

“Nah, that doesn’t make sense,” he says in his lethargic Carl way. Yuri squeals in surprise and nearly punches Carl through the mesh window as April lets out a burst of laughter.

“Carl! The resident smart guy!” she chortles, then gets serious. “How’d you even get here? The trailer’s moving. If you’re not trained in this sort of thing, you could get seriously hurt.”

“I dunno,” he says slowly. “Got my Pokemon to try and eat a sock. Full of fiber, innit?... but they got mad, and next thing I know I’m here outside a trailer…” Oblivious, he blinks as a car rushes by.

“Huh!” April says brightly. A moment of silence follows as the other inhabitants process what they just saw. A tiny whimper draws everyone’s attention to the right of Carl.

“We’re on the highway,” Yuri says, barely above a whisper, face drained of all color.

In a rush of motion, the trailer’s inhabitants panic in their attempts to try and save Carl. Vaguely indifferent, Marta continues to watch all of this in a state of awe. Turning her head to the left, she watches April nearly trip over herself in her hurry to get to the emergency phone. Rise and Ferrum are desperately trying to save Carl, with Ferrum shouting about justice and dignity and threatening to dangle her (very haunted) sword for Carl to grasp onto while Rise tries to take out the mesh screen. Under the bed, Vecepia screams suggestions on how to help, while Keira stands by, trying to attend to every request and idea blubbering out of her mouth; Yuri, on the other hand, is straight-up screaming and threatening to flip something. In a very unhelpful manner, Cassandra yanks out her guitar and starts playing some panicky video-game tune. Somewhere in the distance, from the front of the trailers, Marta can hear the sound of Chef Hatchet yelling and the subsequent swerving and barreling of the trailers as he tries to redirect the trailers off the road, throwing the trailer into shrieks and motion.

For her part, Marta remains as dumbstruck as Carl himself, mere observers of the commotion. Out of the corner of her eye, Marta sees Ruth open the bathroom door, scrubbing at her eyes.

Ruth seems chipper and collected, completely over her crying fit that was absolutely a crying fit (no one can deny this fact, as much as Ruth might want them to later). “Hey, what did I miss?” she asks, lowering her arm from her face - and just stopping.

Grimly, Marta watches Ruth’s eyes get larger than saucers as she beholds the chaos and noise, turning her head this way and that. She gapes at the mess and screaming, much like a newly-hired pizza delivery guy sent to the house down the lane that throws a wild party every night, taking it all in as her expression becomes more and more astounded. Scanning the room, she locks eyes with Marta as Natu finally decides to bed down in her hair.

Marta nods seriously at Ruth. Ruth, petrified, nods slowly back.

Perhaps this is the new normal.

* * *

Nearly every one of the trailer’s inhabitants, both from the girl’s and boy’s sides, had their own morning and evening routines. Rise, after much consideration, decided to add one thing to hers.

Carrying around the ceremonial boxes and incense was quite the ordeal, of course, but one which has significance! And the surprise sentience of the mirror (or perhaps the presence of the Pokemon that inhabits it) is certainly an occasion to be celebrated, as such a miracle has to be from the divine will of Ho-oh itself.

“You’re kidding,” Marta says from outside the door when she sees Rise walk past. “You’ve all - no. You’ve got to be kidding.”

Rise just smiles at her and starts setting up the shrine.

* * *

Being a driver of not one, but two trailers was hard (and vaguely illegal) work. On some nights, Chef drove for hours through the roads, determined to get to the next city and make up for lost time. That stupid executive took their contracts, and he kept wandering from city to city! He’s gotta track him down so they can start the show, damn it!

On others, such as tonight, Chef stopped the car to make sure that he actually had time to sleep in the cab. Not sleeping for two weeks can kill you, which is unfortunate. People would be a lot more efficient if they didn’t have to sleep.

Yet tonight, despite Chef’s exhaustion, he just can’t get to sleep, no matter how hard he tries to lie perfectly still. It’s also, according to the dashboard clock, past 3 am! This is MORE than frustrating and it’d be great if he could punch someone (maybe Chris) but, again, it’s past 3 am. Instead, he lies awake and irritated, his co-host (really just the full host) sprawled on the couch and snoring peacefully. Ah, Chris. As much as Chef loves him, he loves his paycheck more. And by that he means “Chris sucks a lot and Chef doesn’t care about him despite his romantic advances”. Screw you, Chris.

But all that aside, there was only one thing that could possibly soothe his nerves when times were this rough. No, not beating off. Slowly, Chef gets to his feet and sneaks out of the truck.

Making his way out of the truck, Chef lumbers to the back of the girl’s trailer and to the bathroom entrance. Whistling, he pulls out his keys, unlocking the door with a click that sounds all too loud in the dead of night.

Now, some of you out there might be thinking, “oh my god. It’s a pedophile.” No, despite his angry and cruel reputation, not even Chef was THAT terrible. What he’s looking for on this night was a much simpler pleasure.

His hulking presence casts long shadows across the tile floor as he walks to the mirror. In recent days, the sink around it had slowly become more lavish, currently being covered in what appeared to be red powder and a vase full of flowers. Chef stares at his reflection, then kneels down.

For the next thirty minutes, all he did was weep over the poor Igglybuff of his dreams that was not meant to be. Damn it, Chris! Why did you have to do all those things that forbade him and his cohost from owning Pokemon! Why did Chef have the bad judgement to go along with it! Oh, stupid… Woe, woe, woe.

An Igglybuff would have been so _perfect_ , Chef reflects mournfully, putting the mirror shrine back in order and making sure that no trace of his presence remained. No one must know of the trust he put in the mirror. No one.

_Creak._

Shoot! What was that?! Chef didn’t spend years in the army for nothing. He’s still prepared to take on any threat, and still flinches at loud noises, so _what was that._

He turns around to face a petrified Yuri-chan squatting on the seat of a toilet, wide-eyed and shaking as the stall door slowly swings open. She glances from the shrine to Chef, eyes begging for an explanation.

“You didn’t see anything,” Chef says.

* * *

(Outside of the trailer, all is tranquil, the air hanging perfectly still. The Johtonian skyline is just as frequently littered with looming mountains than with lights and glamour, forming a nearly seamless mesh of urban and nature wrapped up in the endless ocean that influences the lives of Johto’s citizens. The outskirts of Ecruteak City in particular make a perfect stopping place to rest at night, green grass cushioning the cars that park here.)

(Said grass also makes a functional cushion for those surprised car drivers aikido flipped out of trailer bathrooms by 14 year old girls in the wee hours.)

(Needless to say, Yuri did not get much sleep.)

* * *

Logan Diamond likes to think he lives a life of few difficulties, besides all those involved in becoming hip and popular in the first place. Sure, he has occasional scuffles with his band mates about who should get the last slice of (vegan) pizza, but overall? Life is good. So when Carl came into the trailer after Chef swerved off the road, Logan didn’t think much of it after Jackson patted him down for injuries.

But then came the rumor that the girls were talking to some kind of mirror. The other boys (especially Francis) were... skeptical, to say the least. Then the whispers kept continuing. That the mirror was actually sentient. That Chef had been in the girl’s bathroom to consult it at 4:13 in the morning (?????). That it led a double life as a pop star.

To be frank, Logan seriously doubts most of these rumors, but when he passes by Cassandra and Yuri every morning to get breakfast, _all they talk about is the mirror_. Not him! Not his presence! He could have sworn that they were swooning over him a week and a half ago, and suddenly it’s all gone. One could say that his curiosity was more than a little piqued by this incredibly distracting mirror.

After breakfast today, though, Monty had talked about needing to take care of some business and then leaving the trailer to do something or other before they started off again. Knowing how close they were to Olivine City, it’d make sense for him to have gone ahead to go swimming or something. In any case, it’s close to dinner, and he’s nowhere to be found. Which wasn’t really _concerning_ , Monty could definitely handle himself, but it was still prudent to know where he was in case they had left him behind, Jackson has been stressing. Logan personally doesn’t care too much. If Monty wants to show up, he will.

That, of course, doesn’t stop Jackson from being an extremely worried mother hen, and he’s been asking around all day.

“Hey, Gareth,” Jackson says again, glancing across the room. “Have you seen Monty in the past few hours?” Gareth merely looks through him, pinning him with a stare that could petrify even Seymour, saying nothing and taking out a cookie. Gareth starts to eat the cookie, never blinking. “Uh… okay. Thanks.”

“Well,” Francis says, causing everyone else to groan in exasperation, “whatever he’s doing, it must be EXTREMELY IMPORTANT and dignified. As he’s from Kanto, the BEST region, unlike the REST of you scrubs -”

“Shut up, Francis,” Jackson says reflexively with not a change of his omnipresent relaxed expression.

“I think he’s talking to the mirror!” Simun chirps, all too cheerfully for someone who’s shoving whole Pokeblocks down his Swablu’s throat. That’s... honestly repugnant. Why is his Swablu _like_ this? (Why is Simun?)

His reply is met by a blank look from Samson. “What mirror?”

“That mirror. You know.” Simun makes his eyes disconcertingly big. “Thaaaat one.” Sighing in fake sadness, he adds, “If only the girls would let us in the trailer. I could suffer staring at my own ugly mug in there instead of forcing the rest of you to see it.”

“We have a mirror in our own bathroom,” Seymour says, snippy as ever. “You could always take your countenance in there instead.”

“Fair point!” Simun says with an off-kilter grin, leaving the rest of the packaged Pokeblocks (Logan tries to keep himself from analyzing the amount of chemicals in those) for Swablu to peck at and then… still attempt to swallow whole for some reason. “I know what I’m doing with the rest of my afternoon.” Seymour just rolls his eyes.

“Oh! The mirror. That mirror,” Samson replies quickly, nodding sagely. His Zorua, uncloaked by illusion, pads by him, and Samson quickly snatches it up and hides it behind him. “The girl’s trailer mirror. Well, we’ve all heard the rumors.”

“Yeah, they’re all stupid,” Seymour says. “A pop star mirror?”

“What’s wrong with pop stars?” Samson says, glancing at Logan in a not-at-all conspicuous manner. Logan smiles back languidly, and Samson blushes redder than his shirt. “They’re great! They sing really well!”

“Thanks, Samson,” Logan says, and Samson blushes even redder. Zorua wriggles out of his grip and Samson quickly returns it to its Pokeball.

“They also have money,” Gareth says quietly. Logan winces.

“I tell you what,” he says to Gareth, who seems only slightly attentive. “When I get back on my feet, I’ll see if I can swing you some cash.” Gareth nods, seemingly emotionless as ever. He’s not really sure if that really meant anything to Gareth, but heck, he’s doing what he can.

On his own bunk, Carl scratches his chin absently. “Doesn’t make much sense. Pop stars gotta be good looking, and what if the mirror isn’t good looking?”

Pointedly glaring at Logan, Francis almost says something before Jackson casually drapes his blanket over the side of the bed and converts Francis’s entire bunk into a little containment cell made out of plush minky fabric. Jacksoned again.

“Back to the topic at hand,” Jackson begins, as Francis makes a sound somewhere in between a screech and a roar of unfathomable fury, “I hope Monty’s doing well. Especially since the trailer’s still in motion and we haven’t had a chance to check on him.”

“We should be stopping soon,” Logan says, nodding at Jackson with a grateful grin. Jackson nods back, ever-placid. Man, he could only aim to be that chill. “Simun’s right. Monty’s probably in the girl’s trailer with the mirror.” Almost on cue, the trailer slid to a stop, jolting them all forward with the sudden movement. “See, he’ll be in here any moment.”

“Well, I’m off,” Simun says, hopping off his bed straight to the floor. “Ow. Anyway, I’ve gotta go glare at myself for a few hours.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Seymour yawns and turns a page in the book he’s reading. “None of us will miss you.”

“Great!” With that, Simun ambles off to the bathroom, whistling an off-key tune. Gareth watches him go, chewing slowly on the rest of his cookie. He then takes out another, crunching ominously.

Heavy footsteps fall in front of the trailer and Gareth immediately looks up, shoving the rest of his new cookie into his mouth. Monty bursts open the door, a wide grin on his face.

“Oh dear Arceus here we go,” Seymour mutters in one breath, covering his ears before Monty has a chance to speak.

“I’m back!” Monty yells, boisterous as ever. “And I can confirm every one of those rumors about the mirror!”

“You can?” Samson asks, surprised, as Francis rolls out of his bed and falls to the ground with a grunt.

“I HATE this trailer and everyone in it,” Francis mutters, barely audible, as Monty walks by him. “Okay, almost everyone. Monty can stay. Monty’s great.”

“Every one of the rumors!” Monty reiterates, ignoring Francis. “The pop star one, the sentient one, all of it!”

“The mirror’s sentient?” Carl blinks. “... Bit weird, innit?”

“Yes, of course it is,” Seymour groans, ever the drama queen. He takes his hands off his ears and scowls, turning his book over to rest it on his bed. Every lesson that Logan’s ever heard about using a bookmark flashes through his head in a montage, and he has to resist the urge not to find a receipt or something to use as one. “It’s probably just some prank the girls are pulling on us.”

Monty climbs up on his bunk and takes a seat. “On the contrary!” he says as Gareth scrambles up to sit next to him. “Vecepia filled me in! They think there’s a Ghost-type Pokemon inhabiting the mirror! And Keira said she’s heard it sing before! In fact, it taught her to! She sounds really good,” he muses as an afterthought.

Simun pokes his head out of the bathroom. “So you’re telling me I can go to the girl’s trailer and the mirror can potentially insult me and my appearance? I’m sold.”

“It’s worth looking into,” Jackson concludes. “Maybe not for that purpose, Simun.”

Crossing his legs, Logan leans back, making sure all eyes were on him. “I’d like to check it out too. I’m a little skeptical.”

Now on the floor, Francis yanks Jackson’s blanket to the floor before he can complain. “Oh, are you jealous?” he sneers, stretching his face into a grotesque baby face. “Is the prissy pop star from UNOVA which SUCKS and DESERVES TO SINK IN THE OCEAN jealous of a mirror for singing better than he can?”

Monty grins at Francis, all teeth and no mirth. “I didn’t actually hear it sing!” he points out, as Gareth turns his glare to Francis. “From what Keira says, it sounds a bit like Logan anyway! I wouldn’t be so ready to insult people if I were you!”

Francis harrumphs, then glances at Gareth, who continues to stare at him. “What do YOU want?”

“Your tortured family life is no excuse to be cruel to those you disagree with,” Gareth mumbles, chewing on his cookie between his words. Paling considerably, Francis sputters for a moment, then storms outside.

“Good riddance,” Seymour says with a snort. “We have GOT to find a way to get rid of that guy.” Jackson merely stares after the open door, flapping like Francis’s lips in the breeze.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “We really do.”

* * *

“Dude! You gotta check this out!”

April rollerblades beside the tables during breakfast, yelling to any and every person who cares. Francis, being Francis, scoffs at her, while others look on with a bit of interest.

“Even if you’re not a dude or would prefer a term with a little less flippant friendliness! We’re doing something COOL today!”

“What’s up?” Jackson asks, adjusting his hat. “The mirror?”

April grins knowingly. “HECK yeah the mirror!” Today seemed as good a day as ever to try something the girl’s trailer had been tossing around for a while, especially since the boys had now accepted the mirror as a part of life. And they had a sentient mirror! Situation DEMANDED it.

“What _are_ we doing today?” Vecepia asks, wide-eyed from where she sits beside Monty. Gareth seems more than a little irked at her statement and continues to eat his bacon and eggs. Poor guy had to deal with Vee’s being rich and infringing on his time with Monty.

Casting a sympathetic look Gareth’s way, April turns her attention back to Vecepia and grins widely. “You know what we’re doing,” she says, ominous, and Vecepia gasps in delight.

“Monty! Do you want to come with us?” she asks, tugging on his sleeve. Monty beams down at her, bemused but eager.

“Depends on what it is, Vee!” Monty says, then pauses. “If it has anything to do with the mirror, I’d love to be a part of it!”

“We’ll be starting right after breakfast, since we’re staying here on the outskirts of Olivine City today. Come join us,” April says, grinning again in what she hopes to be an attempt to be vaguely cultish. Man, it’s fun to freak people out sometimes.

Jackson just looks at her weirdly for a bit before shrugging and going back to his breakfast. “I’m interested, but would appreciate a little more information on what’s going on,” he says.

“Count me out,” Seymour chimes in. “I’d rather not get involved unless I know what it is, and whatever kind of worship you’re doing, I don’t want to get tied up in. It sounds stupid anyway.”

“Fair enough,” April says, then smirks. “Not like we wanted you there anyway, party pooper.” Seymour just rolls his eyes at her, but he knows she’s right. He just does. He’s gotta. Anyway it’s his loss and she’s got other things to focus on right now.

Moving on! She’s got better people to see and talk to. Gliding over to where Cassandra and Yuri are dumping their trash (leaving poor Keira to clean up Cassandra’s mess at the table), April pulls off a perfect parallel swizzle and skids to a stop. Cassandra grins at the expression on April’s face.

“Is it time?”

April just smirks in response and beckons, skating away. Audibly squealing in delight, Cassandra all but drags Yuri along, who only stumbles a little as she follows, full of dread and curiosity about The Event They Have Been Planning.

Watching them go along, Ruth just about drops her pancake in her lap. “We’re doing this,” she says, incredulous. “We’re really doing this.”

“Absolutely. You wanna come with?”

“Fine.” Ruth pushes her plate aside. “Stupid girls, obsessed with their mirrors and appearance.”

“Hey,” Cassandra says, pouting. “You spend more time in there than any of the rest of us.”

To that, Ruth flushes redder than the cover of that new book she’s reading all the time, then sputters something incoherent about needing to talk to someone who understood her struggles. Vecepia stands up and eagerly tails the ever-growing parade, pulling Monty along and babbling excitedly about the mirror and what they have planned. For the sake of suspense, April neither confirms nor denies any of what Vecepia’s talking about, only smiling mysteriously as they head to the girl’s trailer.

By now, a rather impressive crowd has gathered at April’s heels, all eager to find out just what is this strange event involving the mirror will entail. Turning around briefly, she realizes that Logan and Samson have been strung along, as well as Jackson and Keira. Heck yeah! More witnesses! She nods to Cassandra, who’s looking more and more excited with each addition.

Holy crap, this is gonna be _great_.

Grinning coyly at the group of people behind her, April barges into the girl’s trailer and yells at the people inside, “Hello, world!”

Marta, currently the only other person in the trailer, barely looks over at the parade of people aiming to see the mirror. “Hey, April,” she says, looking up from where she’s showing Natu a magazine, then double takes at the swarm of people. “WHOA, what are you - of course,” she groans in sudden understanding. “The mirror.”

“Yup, the mirror!” April stomps across the floor and makes her way to the bathroom before turning around. “Who’s ready to consult the mirror for, possibly, the most dangerous stunt yet?”

“I am!” Cassandra yells, waving her arm enthusiastically. Most of the other spectators look on in confusion, still not entirely sure what’s up here. They’ll find out soon enough.

“Well,” April says, tapping her chin mock pensively, “I’m gonna need some brave volunteers. About four of them. Because I doubt I can cram more than five people into the bathroom at once. Who’s willing to take the plunge?”

Cassandra and Vecepia immediately step forward, both beaming. After a moment, Yuri follows suit, morbidly inquisitive. The boys mutter along themselves, but ultimately none of the guys volunteer. Ah, these poor kids unwilling to risk life and limb.

After Logan and Samson look at each other uneasily, Ruth sighs in aggravation. “I can’t believe you’re forcing me to do this,” she laments, folding her arms.

“No one’s forcing you to,” Jackson points out.

“I can’t believe you’re making me go in with you to confront a mirror!”

April claps her hands together, more than satisfied. “Great! Everyone else, wait in the trailer if you want to.”

(Ruth’s complaints only become louder as she follows April, Vecepia, Yuri, and Cassandra into the bathroom.)

The bathroom looks about the same as ever, though the mirror’s had some touch-ups as of late. Keira’s been doing a great job of keeping it clean! It’s probably cleaner now than it was before they started traveling, which befits its new, near-deified status.

April slowly, deliberately, so so carefully approaches the sacred mirror. She pushes aside the bows and posters that Vecepia and Yuri tacked up around it and grins at her own reflection. “Cassandra, if you will,” she says, “the camera.”

Wordlessly, Cassandra turns on her phone, filming the mirror and the reflections of those in the bathroom. Outside, Monty and Simun peek into the bathroom, followed by Ferrum and Keira, and April figures it’s about time to start the show.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary lovelies!” she declares. “Welcome back to our vlog! Last time you saw us, we were talking about the suddenly sentient mirror in the girl’s bathroom.” Cassandra points to their reflections and Vecepia laughs. “Obviously, if you have a sentient mirror you’ve gotta reenact every pop culture reference involving mirrors possible. We’ll be recording that over the next several days! But now, we’ve gotta start with an iconic one.”

Ruth scowls. “If you’re going to do the thing from _Fairest Maiden,_ I’m going to choke someone -”

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” April proclaims, relishing in the giggles of those around her (that aren’t Ruth), “who’s the fairest one of all?”

(Somewhere behind her, April can barely hear a faint mutter of “oh Arceus you’ve all got to be kidding” followed by a thwap as Marta faceplants into her bed.)

Utter silence befalls the bathroom as they wait for a reply from the mirror. The mirror, sparkling clean and bedecked in trinkets, says nothing. Those in the bathroom shift uncomfortably, while those outside talk amongst themselves and crane their necks to get a better view.

“Obviously it’s Logan,” Samson says distantly, followed by a second thwap of Marta falling into her bed again.

April, for her part, continues grinning widely, almost desperately at the mirror. The cameras are watching, after all, and this mirror has got to do SOMETHING. What has all of their faith in it been for?

Outside the trailer itself, Seymour peeks into the window and scoffs. “I knew it,” he says smugly. “It’s just a mirror.”

Cassandra chuckles nervously next to April and reaches out to the mirror. “Well,” she says, gently punching it, “I guess we’re all equally gorgeous -”

The mirror mumbles for a second. Wait wait wait what is that. The mirror can actually talk? Okay, fine. April can deal. Maybe. No. Is that a crackly noise? Shoot, she CAN’T appear to be scared of this. She’s brave. She’s got this.

“Ha, lemme just hear what this thing has to say,” she says, leaning closer. Is that…? Muffled sobbing? What is -

_“IGGLYBUFF!!!”_

All actions come to a halt as April freezes, wide-eyed, at the call. Yuri looks just about petrified, pointing a finger to the mirror in terror as it continues to sob over Igglybuff, bemoaning the mirror’s lack of one.

“That’s… that’s Chef,” she whimpers. “That’s Chef Hatchet’s voice...”

“Well!” Vecepia chuckles, shrinking away from the mirror. “I guess Igglybuff is the fairest of all!” Yuri opens her mouth to say something, but glances at Cassandra’s phone and gulps in fear, shying away from the mirror as well.

“I just want an Igglybuff,” the mirror sobs. Ruth looks very visibly uncomfortable, edging out the door. Cassandra looks at April, mouthing silently _what are we going to do,_ and April decides that’s enough for today.

“Okay, everyone! April and Cass signing off!” April all but knocks the phone out of Cassandra’s hand, then slides out of the bathroom, shoving people out of the way. “WE’RE GOOD FOR TODAY! LET’S NOT DO THIS AGAIN!”

(She was looking forward to Bloody Mary, but it’s a necessary sacrifice. Time to change the schedule to get rid of the next week of mirror references.)

* * *

“Dang, man, why do you gotta be so bad at everything.”

Simun grins at his reflection, hours after the whole Igglybuff debacle. April didn’t want anyone finding out about it, but unfortunately rumors tend to travel around pretty quickly through word of mouth. Sucks to be April. That’s what happens when you try to do reenactments of famous movie scenes!

On the bright side, no one wanted to get anywhere NEAR the mirror for the rest of the day, which means Simun had his _entire_ afternoon free to do what he loves best. Insulting himself. With a maybe-sentient mirror. Honestly, the mirror isn’t even the best part about this. The best part is insulting himself! Because he sucks!

Staring into the mirror and heavily enjoying himself, he adds, “Even your happy insults don’t make you likeable to be around, you know! It’s not even that funny and people laugh but they don’t know the pain you feel inside.”

Speaking of insults! From what Simun’s heard, Ferrum doesn’t react well to being insulted and tends to spew a bunch of reasons why she’s the greatest person ever. That could be hilarious to watch and he could definitely do that at some point. Maybe during dinner. His mind made up, Simun nods to himself and regards the mirror.

“Gotta go now. Thanks for being so understanding, mirror,” he says casually, then pauses. When did this thing get so lavish? It’s decked out in more ribbons and posters than… something with a lot of ribbons and posters on it. Shrugging, he reaches out to tap the mirror. “Looking good, by the way.”

The mirror crackles to life, muttering indistinctly, and Simun steps back, wide (and slightly concerned) grin still affixed to his face. “Oh nice, you’re awake. What kind of wisdom do you have for me?”

Simun waits a moment, the mirror still crackling and muttering. Right. He should probably lean a little closer to hear it. Haha, that was obvious. Feeling more than a little silly, he presses his ear to the mirror.

 _“- You don’t know,"_  the mirror sings quietly, a muffled, indistinct voice, _“that’s what makes you BEAUT-I-FUL!”_

“Ha, sweet,” Simun says, pulling away. “Thanks for that vote of confidence. I, in fact, feel fabulous. Fabulously awful! Ayy.” He points finger guns at the mirror, then grabs a paper towel to rub away the fingerprints he just left on it. Y’know. Just in case it’s actually really sentient.

Faintly, the dinner bell is ringing. Simun looks around at the empty bathroom and starts to stroll away. “Same time, same place tomorrow!” he calls behind him as he goes.

* * *

At this point, Logan’s not really sure what to think of the mirror. On the one hand, after Seymour questioned him for hours, Simun finally admitted that he’d heard the mirror, and proceeded to prove it (loudly) by singing at the top of his lungs until Seymour punched him. So that definitely confirmed the rumors about the mirror being a pop star, which was admittedly a little insulting. (Especially because Simun made an offhand comment about the mirror coming after Logan’s career.)

But on the other hand, it just sounds so unlikely that Logan figures he’s gotta see it for himself. Which is how he’s justifying the venture to the girl’s trailer at the midday refuel break.

“Hi, Yuri,” he says, stepping into the trailer as she squeaks in alarm. “I’m here to see the mirror?”

“Oh, of COURSE you are,” Marta calls from the top of her bed and glaring daggers. “You’re just here to ruin my mojo, too.”

Logan blinks. “What?”

Marta looks about ready to throw something at him, which is… probably justified, all things considered. “I started the mirror thing, you loon!” she screeches. “Get outta here! This is my territory!”

 _Did_ she? Uh. Logan doesn’t know nearly enough about the origins of the mirror to dispute this, exactly, but he’s pretty sure Marta is never happy about the mirror being taken seriously.

“Marta, I’m not sure if that’s true,” he starts, before Marta leaps off her bed and shoves him roughly.

“No. Get out.”

“Okay, okay!” Logan puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave.” Marta, like the rude gremlin she is, doesn’t heed this at all and just pushes him out of the trailer, letting him stumble forward and grinning without a trace of glee.

“And don’t come back,” she declares. “Also, get back to your trailer before Chef starts the truck again, you dummy.”

With that, she slams the door in his face. Logan huffs with impatience, turning around to walk back to the boy’s trailer. Marta doesn’t realize how much her temper can hurt people, and that’s definitely not good in this environment.

Too bad he can’t get to the mirror, though… at least he can’t miss what he never had. Oh well. Maybe he’ll try again another day.

* * *

“Marta, you don’t even LIKE the mirror and hate that you were the one to realize it’s sentient. What’d you shut out Logan for?”

“I don’t like him.” A pause. “And it’s NOT - oh, forget it.”

* * *

“Noble mirror!” Ferrum announces, walking into the bathroom with Honedge balanced perfectly in her hand. “I must prove my worth as a person and knight by exhibiting my sword skills to thee! And also Sir Sun dared me to do it.”

“This is gonna be great,” the aforementioned Sir Sun snickers from behind her. Ferrum tuts internally, all too knowing of the dangers of reckless swordplay. Sir Sun should watch himself. Being around Sir Wikstrom’s most talented student while she practices can be... dangerous.

“Be prepared,” she warns the mirror, before holding Honedge in resting position and closing her eyes. Honedge hums in her hand then goes still, all too familiar with Ferrum’s preperation for swordfighting.

Swordfighting, Ferrum believes, is an art. It’s not simply swinging a sword around like a common brute does a club. One must be completely focused and in tune with their ideals and goals, knowing what they wish to achieve before they may be allowed anywhere _near_ a blade. Usually, Ferrum and her classmates would have to meditate for hours upon what it meant to be a noble before they were cleared to proceed to practice. Obviously, she has no time for this if she aims to impress Sir Sun in the next few minutes, but she still aims to slip into that mindset.

What does she plan to do here? She aims to perform a flashy but overall ineffective routine that would impress Sir Sun here enough to satisfy the dare. Why must she do so? Her pride is at stake. That is more than enough of an excuse for her to brandish a sword. Is it really worth it, and is there a way to solve this without violence? Of course it is, and _heck_ no. Yes, that should be the basics of why she draws her blade.

And so she begins.

Inhaling deeply, Ferrum takes a step forward, moving Honedge through the air fluidly. Left shoulder, tall guard, flourish the sword here, step back here, turn at a 45 degree angle and _slice!_ She exhales sharply, feeling the wind swirl around her as Honedge hums a plaintive song to keep her in time. Roof guard, right gut, lower the limbs; all the time keeping a steady rhythm. There is, of course, no reason to doubt her confidence, her poise, and her expertise.

Ferrum Justice is, after all, Sir Wikstrom’s star student for a reason.

“Hya!” she cries, thrusting Honedge forward and finishing the dance. Opening her eyes, she regards the mirror, Honedge inches away from its surface; she steps back, returning to resting position. “I do hope that clears up any doubt about my ability.”

Slow clapping from Sir Sun, and Ferrum grins with a fierce sense of satisfaction.

* * *

One, two, three. Jackson counts each and every person that leaves the girl’s trailer, raving about the advice and the companionship they find in its polished surface, and frowns. This is, quite frankly, getting concerning. If the mirror is as sentient or inhabited as everyone else claims it to be, how do they keep insisting that they want to talk to it and not the other way around? Isn’t it only polite to let the mirror be listened to if it wants to be?

“Jackson?” Cassandra asks, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Dude. You’re spacing out on me. Staring outside and all that. What’s so interesting about… Shoot. Where are we, again?”

“We’re at Route 38 now, en route to Ecruteak City so we can get to Mahogany Town,” he tells her absentmindedly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

Cassandra nods sympathetically. “The mirror?”

“The mirror,” Jackson agrees. “I just think it’s a little weird that we’re all talking to it and expecting it to care about our problems. Shouldn’t we be listening to it as well? It’s forced to be a captive audience for our problems, after all.”

Looking pensive, Cassandra nods. “Yeah. That’s deep. I mean, I’ve been talking to it sometimes about my family? But I’ve never considered THAT. You gonna talk to it?”

Continuing to stare outside as Samson exits the girl’s trailer, Jackson nods to himself, his mind made up.

“I’m going in,” he tells Cassandra abruptly and stands up. “If no one’s going to be a therapeutic force to that mirror, I will. Especially since we’ve been telling it parts of our pasts. That’s a heavy burden to put on ANYONE.” Beaming, Cassandra flashes him two thumbs-up.

“Sounds good to me!” she says. “I’m just gonna do my best to stay away from Francis.”

Shoot. That’s… a fair point. Francis would... not be good to have around Cassandra. At all. “Would you like me to stay?” he offers, but Cassandra smiles at him.

“I’m good!” she says, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes. “In fact, I think I might go tell him that I’m from Cianwood. That ought to shut him up.”

Despite his worry, Jackson smiles, a little too widely to be considered benign. “That would,” he agrees. “Good luck.”

“Thanks! Good luck with the mirror!”

Jackson slides off his bed and heads outside, ignoring Francis trying to get his attention. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming… Perfect weather for a stroll around Route 38. Grassy knolls and Miltank make up the vast majority of the scenery, and Jackson smiles as a sea breeze passes through his hair. Just like Paniola Ranch… but with a little less ranch and a little more green stuff. Yeah.

Man, when it comes down to it, Johto really did feel a lot like Alola, even though he’s heard that ‘Ulaula Island was more influenced by Johto than the other islands. All good, though. As long as he’s close to the sea, he can still catch some waves, and the people here were friendly as any local.

He takes a meandering path to the girl’s trailer, waving or nodding hellos to those who notice him. (Except Francis. Francis can suck it.) Really, this competition was a great thing to sign up for, despite the wait before the season proper! It was only a shame they barely spent any time in the cities and routes themselves and always ended up on the move, always chasing after that company executive. They were like a caravan of merchants, but instead of dealing in goods or services they just traveled all over the place for no real reason. Which, as it turned out, was really chill.

Jackson opens the girl’s trailer door and steps in, regarding the bathroom carefully as he strides towards it. “Is anyone in there?” he asks, knocking on the door to no answer. Probably safe to enter.

Just as he thinks that and opens the door, he finds Ruth lying on the floor, leaning against the cabinet and sobbing buckets. This immediately stops when she sees him, mouth agape.

“Uh,” he says, completely rationally.

“Um,” Ruth says back, and hiccups. “You didn’t see this.”

“No.” Jackson twiddles his thumbs as Ruth rubs her face with the back of her hand. “Would you like a moment?” he asks, just to be polite.

“I was on my way out.”

“Ah.” Ruth stands up and turns the tap on to splash water on her face. “Well, you have a good day?”

“Thanks. You too.” With that, Ruth all but shoves him aside to get out of the bathroom.

Oh, great. Now it’s _awkward_ to talk to the mirror. Jackson looks at it desperately and pastes on a smile.

“Hey,” he says to the mirror, attempting to be chill (be cool, man, be the Ice-type guy), “how are you?”

The mirror doesn’t say anything, and Jackson takes a breath. This is familiar territory. He perches on the counter and nods to it, beholding its bedazzled appearance. Since Vecepia and Rise stopped in Olivine City’s market to buy a bunch of decorations, the mirror’s been becoming increasingly lavish and/or dedicated to Ho-oh. It’s a tossup at this point. Jackson forces himself to relax and to be as calm as possible around this poor mirror, moving aside some of the burning incense. (That’s gotta be illegal.)

“Everyone here’s been freaking out over you, huh?” he says, staring at one of the many plastic jewels strewn around its rim. “Telling you their life stories, showing off, trying to get you to listen. It must be difficult, being a mirror. You can’t even run away from all these people trying to talk to you.”

Heck, as much as Jackson likes to help out his friends and offer advice, even he would feel suffocated if they felt entitled to his space and time 24/7. From dawn till dusk, the mirror ended up pestered by nearly everyone in the trailers about this and that. If what he’s heard is true, even Chef comes in sometimes to talk about his struggles. He nods to himself.

“Well, I’ll be here for you,” he says, and pulls out a book. “If you ever want to talk about it, or maybe just sit in silence, I’ll be here.”

* * *

Evenings felt significantly longer than usual now that cleaning the sink took a fair bit more time than it did before the mirror thing blew out of proportion. This lament feels more and more sincere by the day, since Keira was the only one trusted to clean it. Of course, she doesn’t complain. The mirror is as welcome a companion to her as it was to any other member of their traveling party, and a great source of comfort and solidarity in the dead of night. Now, if only these people would stop painting things on the mirror with acrylic paints. Don’t they know it takes ages to scrape off? Keira clucks her tongue, clutching her bottle of glass cleaner with ferocity as she scrubs away at the latest little homage to the mirror. There’s praise, and then there’s outright disrespect.

Peeling off a suction cup Cyndaquil, she sighs and wipes away at the mirror. All things taken into consideration, this extra _stuff_ made it extraordinarily difficult to get her job done, that being cleaning. Miss Justice had pulled her aside and explicitly told her that she could keep the mirror - and just this mirror - clean, no matter what she might say in the future otherwise about Keira’s cleaning. This was a duty that was noble and sacred, and Keira was proud to take it upon herself.

The only thing stopping her from being completely content in her responsibilities was the fact that some of the decorations just kept going missing. Especially the ones covered in gold and silver, or those that could be resold for value. Now, Keira was no detective, but she had some ideas about what was happening to these items. While she personally didn’t have a problem with it, leaving the issue unattended was uncharacteristic of one who sought to keep the mirror in its most pristine condition.

Suddenly aware of her own inattention, Keira looks to the mirror, startled as a flash of green and brown flits out of the edges of her vision. Twisting quickly to watch the thief, she stops herself from shouting a command to Spiritomb as Mister Roach leaps out of the trailer’s back door, plush Cyndaquil in hand.

She isn’t sure what he needs it for, but she hopes the petty theft is worth it for him. Sighing again, Keira starts to wipe away the glass cleaner.

* * *

The one thing that Marta’s learned today is that concert-quality musical equipment and bathroom acoustics do not ever, _ever_ mix.

Marta sits outside of the bathroom, arms folded as Cassandra belts out whatever tune she’s singing now. Why is it so Arceus-damned _loud_. The entire trailer is shaking! Faintly, she can hear snatches about the mirror and its excellence mixed into the tune, along with something about a trash heap? This is so, so stupid. Everything is. How did one miscommunication turn into all of this? How could ANYTHING turn into this?

Cassandra exits the bathroom, wild-eyed and grinning wider than ever. She tucks her hair behind her ears, almost glowing with exuberance, as Keira peeks out from behind her and looks rather abashed.

“That was our ballad, everyone!” she calls out to the rest of the trailer. “ _An Ode to the Mirror!_ Thank you, thank you!”

Why this.

“Encore!” April yells from her bunk, and Marta sighs before leaving the trailer. Sometimes you just need to know when to quit.

* * *

“It’s a mirror,” Carl says slowly, looking into it. “And it gives advice?”

“Of course!” Monty says, smiling. Why exactly is he smiling? What happened? “It certainly helped me with my past! Nothing like talking to an inanimate object to get your head in working order! I used to do that with an anchor, but now I can make faces at myself!”

Noncommittal, Carl continues to stare at the mirror. “Huh.”

It makes sense, he figures. There’s movies on that logic. _Fairest Maiden_ had a talking mirror, but only sometimes. If he had a talking mirror, he’d probably name it something. Things that can talk should have names so that they know you’re talking to them.

But wait, if it’s a talking mirror, how come it has so many bows and ribbons on it? Obviously it wouldn’t have decorations if it didn’t want to have them, being able to express its wishes.

“How does it get prettier?” he asks, wanting Monty’s input on the situation. Monty tilts his head at him, expression inscrutable.

“People have been buying things for it, of course!” he says, tipping his hat towards it. “I’d do the same if I had money! Maybe I could collect shells like Vecepia does!”

“Hm… nah.” Carl shakes his head at this. What if the mirror doesn’t like the decorations? It’d be a bit rude of other people to disrespect its wishes. “Bit weird, though, innit?”

A loud shrieking comes from behind the two and Carl turns to watch Francis barrel through the door and shove him to the side.

“OUT OF THE WAY, YOU NOT-KANTO TWAT!” Francis yells, then turns to Monty. “I apologize for this interruption, good sir, but I was wishing to consult the mirror.”

“Of course!” Monty says, patting Carl on the back. “We were on our way out anyway! Have fun!”

Carl’s pretty sure Monty didn’t mean that. But he probably doesn’t mean a lot of stuff, either. After all, barely any of the people around here have real reasons for why anything is the way it is. Not like Carl does.

* * *

Following some rumors that the songs Keira’s heard sound a lot like songs from Logan’s newest album, Samson decided it’d be good to practice asking Logan out to the mirror. Because that’s what people normally do with mirrors, right? Talk to them to practice conversation? And the fact that this one’s sentient can only help in the advice it gives! If Monty’s right (and he usually is), the mirror even talks sometimes! Plus, the girls in the trailer were nice enough to let him and Zorua stay in here while the trailers are en route to the Lake of Rage for a rainy picnic! That should be fun, whenever they get there.

But now he’s stuck here. In a moving trailer. Going over bumps and ledges as his mischievous fox Pokemon decides to drink out of a toilet. (He’s just gonna ignore that….)

“Um,” Samson tells the mirror, very coherently. Where to start?

Most conversations normally start with someone saying hi. That sounds about right.

“H-hey, Logan,” he tries, pointing finger guns to his reflection and attempting a shaky grin. Yes, yes. Be charming. Suave, but not overbearing. “I was thinking, you’re pretty - pretty cool, yeah. I mean!! Uh.”

Shoot. He didn’t think this through. Conversation topics, conversation topics…. Oh, crap, if he can’t think of anything to say to a mirror, how will he deal with the actual thing?? Um. Think, Samson, think! If he was a celebrity, he wouldn’t like talking about his celebrity stuff. Maybe the current state of events? That sounds safe.

“Pretty weird that our Region Trotters competition got delayed, huh?” he asks the mirror, raking a hand through his hair. “N-not that I’m complaining, of course! An all-expenses paid road trip is pretty sweet, e-even though we’re starting the actual competition as soon as we chase down that show executive with our papers.” He sighs. “Maybe it’s better this way. No one gets kicked off. I mean, we’re all getting along pretty well...

“Except Francis,” Samson adds, laughing a little. “I think Jackson’s trying to find a way to drop him off at a gas station before we all go crazy. Unova contestant to Unova contestant, that guy’s a little high-strung.”

The mirror watches him, blank and unfeeling. Samson’s smile fades, and he slumps against the counter. What kind of chance does he hope to have with Logan Diamond anyway? Is he hoping for, what, a boyfriend? Logan might not even be into guys, which would suck and mean all of this was for nothing, but _ugh_. He’s hot! And so cool and approachable (kind of) and… augh.

This is pointless. All of this is. Tears prick behind his eyes, threatening to spill over his eyes and get everywhere in a huge mess, just like the mess that makes up his actual life. Which is kind of melodramatic but this is a melodramatic situation. Why is he so bad at everything in life? What would his friends say about him back home? Oh, geez, it’s a good thing the cameras aren’t on yet…

A quick pitter patter of feet and a wet nose pokes into his knee. Samson turns to see Zorua licking his boots, looking concerned and panicked at its trainer’s distress. He laughs softly and picks it up, stroking it softly.

“Thanks,” he says, petting it behind its ears. “For being here.” Burying his fingers in Zorua’s fur, he breathes deeply, letting his heart rate slow. Thank goodness for the ubiquity of Pokemon. What would he do without Zorua - _f***!_

Samson drops Zorua and falls to the floor, shaken by whatever the HELL that massive bump was that the trailer just went over. (He’s the Dark-type trainer and an adult, he’s allowed to curse, right? Maybe?) Zorua yowls and scampers away from him, then stops, eyes wide and alert. Samson dusts his hands off and glances at his fox.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, suddenly nervous. “We just went over a bump, there’s nothing to worry about.”

In response, Zorua leaps onto the counter, brushing aside a vase of flowers, leaving Samson to scramble after it. Completely ignorant of the imminent chaos it almost caused, Zorua boops its nose against the mirror, turns to Samson, and yips loudly.

“What is it?” Samson creeps closer to the mirror, then presses his ear to it. Faint strains of a guitar and a soft croon comes from it, and Samson’s eyes widen. He knows that voice...

 _“You know you can do it,_ _”_ Logan sings over an acoustic guitar, a simple tune of plucked chords. _“Was in you all along! If you’re also feeling hopeful, feel free to sing this song…_ _”_

Arceus, why is this man so good? Everything he says is awe-inspiring and just _excellent_ motivational advice, no matter what he does... Scrubbing tears from his cheeks, Samson pulls back and grins at the mirror.

“Thanks, mirror,” he tells it, then grins a lot wider than he did earlier. “That helped a lot, and I’m really grateful to you! When we stop at the next department store, I’ll buy some more posters for you!”

Scooping up Zorua before it knocks over anything else, he adds, “Do you think you could do Sableye again?” In the blink of an eye, Zorua transforms into a Sableye, eyes gleaming in the bathroom light. Samson laughs. “They’ll never see it coming,” he muses, stroking Zorua as he heads out of the bathroom.

* * *

Marta slumps down next to Simun at the lunch table, dark circles under her eyes. Simun whistles in faux incredulity. “You look dead on your feet,” he says, passing her a sandwich. “Nearly as dead as I wish I was. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she snaps, glaring at him woefully. “It’s just that there’s a CONSTANT stream of people going through the girl’s trailer, and I can NEVER get any sleep. I’m considering running out and catching a Drowzee just so I can get it to use Hypnosis on me!” She takes a mournful bite of sandwich, somehow managing to look really pissed and kind of cute at the same time. Like a particularly upset cat. Simun nods, pleased with that mental image.

“I getcha,” he says and nods at her, taking a bite of his own sandwich. Egg salad. Yum. “It can be so draining to have to deal with people that irritate you. Case in point,” he adds, pointing to himself with a dopey smile. Giggling a little, Marta rubs her eyes.

“Thanks, Simun,” she says. “Honestly, you’re the only one I can talk to that doesn’t bring up… y’know. That.” Laughing a little more, more desperation than humor, Marta takes another bite of sandwich and talks with her mouth full. “I think it’s affecting my sanity.”

Simun grins again, all too aware of her plight. “Ah,” he says, nodding again in understanding. “It’s pretty hard to cling to sanity among everyone here. In fact, it’s hard to keep mine! I do that by talking to my best friend.”

“Your best friend.” Marta processes this. “Me?”

“Nope. Try again.”

“Uh.” Marta’s eyes widen in fear, and Simun grins at the thought of the response that he’s gonna get out of her. “Please say it isn't so.”

“The mirror,” he proclaims, “is my best friend in the world.”

She glares at him again, but with a little less spite and looking more like a kicked upset cat than anything. “If I didn’t like you so much, I would punch you right now.”

“Well, too bad you’re not my best friend,” Simun tells her, continuing to eat the sandwich. “Got an appointment with the mirror after this, anyway.”

“I hate you.”

“Same.”

* * *

“So you’re that mirror everyone’s all hyped up about, huh?”

Seymour pokes the mirror, then smears his hand across it. It’s just a mirror. Probably not even possessed or whatever it is that everyone insists it is. All of this extra junk around it can shove it as far as he’s confirmed.

Honestly, Marta has the right idea, although he’ll never admit it. Even if there IS a Ghost-type Pokemon in it, Pokemon don’t know how to make human language noises. It’s probably some sort of elaborate prank that the girls cooked up and are holding to religiously for some unknown reason. And sudden sentience? Come on! It’s pretty unlikely, if not downright stupid.

“I don’t trust you,” he tells it, scowling and pocketing one of the gold trinkets lying around it. He’s seen Gareth with some of them and is pretty sure they might actually be solid gold? Either way, he’s probably not supposed to be taking them, but Vecepia wouldn’t notice anyway. “A sentient mirror? Please.”

The mirror, of course, doesn’t say anything, and Seymour smiles in satisfaction. See? Just a normal, cruddy bathroom mirror. Maybe you could talk to your reflection to question your life choices, like Monty’s said he’s been doing, but advice? No.

A muffled cry of “You have to talk to the mirror about your problems!” through the door from Ruth, and Seymour groans.

“I don’t want to!” he calls back, folding his arms. “You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not a teacher or something!”

“Fine, but I’m just saying, you’re using it wrong!”

“Can you believe her?” Seymour mutters to the mirror, jabbing a finger at the closed door. “I don’t care if I’m talking to you wrong. If I’m gonna complain about life, I’m gonna do it, and I’m gonna like it.”

Wait. Did he just talk to the mirror? Seymour groans and rests his forehead against it, ignoring the fact that Keira’s gonna have a hard time cleaning it later. Oily teenager foreheads are the best for ruining lives. Sometimes his own. Despite himself, he smiles.

“Maybe you’re not so bad,” he tells the mirror, then sits down and prepares to complain about every person in the entire cast.

* * *

Mirrors are made for staring at your reflection and arguing with it, for fixing hair and checking teeth. They aren’t sentient, and they never will be, unless they’re legitimate antiques and actually inhabited by a Gastly or a Misdreavus or something, and even then they’d be more focused on doing pranks instead of sitting here and giving advice! Ghost Pokemon can’t even talk!

Marta stands in front of the mirror, brushing her teeth before bed - a _normal_ thing to do with a mirror - and frowns, elbowing aside all the mementos and statuettes that have started, apparently, to litter the counter. Folded paper flowers, ribbons, posters of boy bands, whatever that is that Rise keeps putting around the sink… It’s getting unbearable.

“I hate you, mirror,” she tells it, as frank as she can be. “I just wanted to practice arguments for when I have to deal with Logan again. You’re not sentient, you’re not possessed. You’re just a mirror, and no one seems to realize this.”

Of course, the mirror doesn’t answer. Marta spits out the toothpaste and scowls menacingly into the mirror, pulling face after face. No one seems to understand that the mirror is just a mirror! That’s it! That’s all! In fact, she can hammer it right now and no one would notice - what was that crackling noise?

Oh, right, so only NOW the mirror finally decides to say something. Rolling her eyes, Marta leans in. “What kind of advice do you have for me?” she laments out loud. “What kind of song or whatever? Go on, oh magic mirror, I’m listening.”

Another crackle. A faint, tinny tune and a voice she’d recognize anywhere.

 _“Let go of your anger and let go of your fear, because those that you love will always be here,_ _”_ Logan sings, and Marta’s vision goes red.

* * *

Those in the girl’s trailer on that fabled night would be able to recount the details with alarming specificity. Marta went into the bathroom alone, presumably to talk to the mirror. Some sources continue to insist that Marta muttered to the mirror before the incident occurred, having finally given in to the combination of peer pressure and the sheer allure of the mirror. A moment of silence passed, everyone doing their own thing before bed.

 _CRACK_.

Everything after was a hazy mess of action, according to all involved. Ruth is the first to get to the bathroom door, bashing it open and beholding Marta cleaning up her bloodied hand in the sink, alarmingly calm considering the spots of blood and glass shards strewn about the room. Yuri screams at the sight of the carnage and backs out of the room, letting April call concern to Marta’s injuries. Now rather spiteful, Marta glowers back and says quietly, “Why am I the one you’re concerned about?”

Slowly, collectively, their gaze moves from Marta to the shattered mirror, a starburst of glass and aluminum spraying glimpses of reflected light into the offerings beneath it. Marta watches them, calm. Now this charade would be over.

April, is the first to speak. “Marta,” she starts, uncertain and tentative, “what have you _done_.”

“You can’t keep telling me that this mirror is sentient,” she tells them, chin raised. “So I killed it off. You’re all welcome. Now we can FINALLY focus on more reasonable things, thank Arceus -”

“More reasonable things?” Cassandra starts, eyes wide and mouth agape. “MORE REASONABLE THINGS? Marta, that mirror was our LIFE! It brought the whole team together! All of us! And you- you _broke_ it? Why? Why did you do it? How COULD you?!”

“Go and see Monty immediately for medical advice,” April says before Cassandra can continue and before others can join in. “And for a sink that isn’t filled with glass shards. Just… go.” To everyone else, she whispers softly, “We need time to mourn.” Everyone else nods and mutters in agreement, to Marta’s dismay.

“Oh, mirror,” Ruth mutters softly, “it was all too soon, wasn't it?” Ruth turns away, eyes closing as tears start to slide down her cheeks. Actual tears. Over a mirror. These people are crazy.

To the glares and hisses of many, Marta sighs and leaves the room, knuckles dripping blood. Keira wordlessly hands her a towel, which she rests her hand on. It’s just a mirror! She has glass shards in her hand! It hurts like hell! Shouldn’t there be a little more concern for her?

Word gets around fast, so when Monty sees her, he frowns and clucks his tongue. “We’re going to have to go to the Pokemon Center for that,” he says, softer than she expected. “You need stitches and bandages! Breaking a mirror is painful! I hope you’re insured!”

“Yeah, I am,” she says, glancing away. F***. This hurts, what the hell was she thinking. On one hand, the mirror thing had to be over and done with, but on the other hand, ow. “We’re in… what, Mahogany Town right now? Nice. Hometown benefits. They’ll know me.”

“Not the first time you’ve punched a mirror, then!” Monty laughs. Becoming serious again, he adds, “But this is the first time you’ve taken a dear friend away from us! Watch your step near the boy’s trailer.”

“Are you threatening me?” Marta asks. “Over a mirror?” Monty just grins at her and she sighs. “Please just take me to the Pokemon Center.”

“I’m sure you can find it yourself! After all, you live here!”

“Fine by me,” Marta says, and leaves the campsite, shaking her head. Everyone here has ridiculously impaired judgement, apparently. Not worried about the girl with literal glass shards in her hand, instead worried about the mirror it came from. This is why it had to stop.

Hopefully her insurance is still good.

* * *

Back at the campsite, people are just starting to realize the ramifications of what happened. Despite the late hour of night, person after person streams out of each trailer, some bemused and shuffling out in their pajamas, others far too suspicious already and wailing as they hear the news. Others still, mostly the compassionate ones, crowd around Vecepia as she cries.

“It was all so soon!” she sobs, pausing to blow into a handkerchief that Keira gives to her before she heads towards the bathroom with a broom and dustpan. Ew, snot... “The mirror had so much more life left to live!”

“We don’t even have a proper coffin for it,” Yuri cries, clutching April, who lowers her head. Ruth mutters something about paying respects and walks away, shell-shocked. Jackson almost looks like he wants to go after her, but stops where he stands, comforting Cassandra instead.

Francis sniffs. “Maybe it wasn’t from Kanto, but that’s okay,” he insists. “That mirror was there for me no matter what. Shut up, Jackson.” Jackson, who didn’t seem like he was going to say anything, just shrugs.

Even Simun seems genuinely affected by this, at a loss for words. After a moment, he sighs, placing a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “It’s been a ride, hasn’t it?” he tells Gareth, who just stares and eats from a bag of croutons.

Seymour, on the other hand, doesn’t seem altogether too fazed, but when he sees the crowd he pauses. “Wow,” he says. “A… lot of people sure used the mirror, didn’t they?” Logan looks almost ready to contradict him, but ultimately says nothing.

Marta must be awfully strong to break a mirror, Vecepia will acknowledge that. But the mirror! How will they go on without it? People continue to mill about, lost and confused and talking in small groups until Cassandra looks up and breathes in a loud gasp that draws all attention to her.

“Guys!” she yells, pointing upwards. “Look at the stars!”

Almost as one, the cast members look up at the cosmos and behold the glimmering tangle of stars and galaxies framed by the mountain peaks. Mahogany Town, though rural, has a distinct lack of light pollution, especially at this hour. The clear night creates a perfect window for the stars, Vee thinks, breath hitching in her chest. Nothing, not even the view from her father’s Sinnoh mansion, can possibly rival this spectacle! She’ll have to figure out a way to stay on the show until Mahogany Town just to see this again. Assuming they ever chase down that corporation person who has the papers they need…

A soft cough behind them, and Vecepia turns to see Keira holding her dustpan. “I saved all I could,” she says to Ferrum with a bow. “I also asked Spiritomb to help me collect the rest of the shards from the mirror frame. I believe Marta had some of the mirror embedded in her fist.”

“It’ll make her stronger,” Carl says with determination. “I reckon if you have metal in you, you’ll be stronger. Glass is metal.”

“No, it’s not,” Ferrum says flatly. Carl just shakes his head.

“It is,” he says, and that’s the end of the conversation.

“Excuse me,” Keira says, polite as ever. “Is there a place where I may place the shards?” Vecepia thinks for a moment, then smiles through her tears.

“I have a cookie tin that’s gold and shiny,” she offers. “It’s on my bed! I’ll go and get it.”

Ferrum nods in approval. “Perfect,” she says. “A most noble coffin for our departed friend. See to it.” Vee nods and runs to get it.

When she comes back, Keira deposits the shards in the cookie tin, the glass reflecting the sky above. Vecepia sighs and closes the lid on the tin, feeling everyone else crowd around her to pay their respects. It’s kind of amazing how one mirror can bring together a whole cast, isn’t it? Something as small as an in joke can actually bring together an entire two trailers of almost-reality show contestants, as well as its hosts. (Even though Chef and Chris were asleep in the trailer, they’d heard from Yuri about Chef’s Igglybuff after the fact.)

Samson coughs and draws everyone’s attention. “But how are we going to give it a proper funeral?” The entire cast stands in this moment of silence before April speaks up.

“We should give it a funeral pyre. And then put it on a boat. And then burn the boat.”

“Excellent idea,” Rise says, nodding astutely. “A most divine gift of sentience from Ho-oh was doomed to end at some point. And you only use a funeral pyre for the most heroic of deaths!”

“And there’s Ho-oh symbolism,” Yuri adds. “Because it’s fire… a-ah!” She ducks behind Rise, wide-eyed. “P-please stop looking at me.”

“A funeral pyre does sound pretty fun,” Jackson says. Cassandra bumps him with her hip.

“More like LIT, am I right or am I right?” she pipes up, grinning widely.

Simun smiles, folding his arms. “Now’s not the time for memes, but I agree. The mirror was pretty cool. It fits.”

Nodding, April gestures for Vecepia to put down the tin, which she does. “Meet at Route 42 in about an hour,” April says, standing akimbo. “Change out of pajamas if you want, pay your respects, whatever. We have a fire to start.”

Everyone mutters in agreement, drifting off their separate ways to take care of whatever business they felt they should be doing at 10:15 at night. Vee stares at the mirror’s coffin, numbness overtaking her. Sure, it may have been a mirror, but it wasn’t _just_ a mirror. It was an excellent pre-game bonding figure, one that united so many different people from different walks of life to become friends, and maybe more. Not a day went by when someone hadn’t burst into the girl’s trailer to ask about the mirror or to perform some crazy stunt. And now all of that, gone…

A hand falls on her shoulder and she looks up to see Carl, staring blankly ahead.

“Don’t worry,” Carl says. “It had its time, but its time ended. It’s in a better place now.” Pointing down, he adds, “That box is a bit nicer than the bathroom, innit?”

Vee smiles, wiping away her tears. “Yes,” she agrees, “it certainly is.”

* * *

The funeral proper is brief, though altogether a little too much for Ruth’s tastes. For one, a funeral pyre seems excessive for a mirror. Especially considering it was nearing midnight, April had made a tiny boat in the space of an hour, and they had made plans to set sail the tiny boat with the mirror on it towards Mount Mortar as it burned. Maybe this was too much fuss over a simple mirror?

...No, of course not. That mirror had been as much her friend as anyone else’s, a companion to tell stories to and to laugh and cry with. Besides, it not only had to bear witness to her countless stories, it also had to suffer through the rest of these clouts that call themselves reality show contestants. All in all, she probably should have expected MORE girly extravagance since this whole thing started in the girl’s trailer. Maybe she should just be happy that they were sending it off in such a badass manner.

April continues to set up the boat, adding a wire bow that Cassandra passes to her, a folded paper crane from Monty, a shower of red dust from Rise (“It’s for flammability, this will help the smoke rise up and deliver the mirror’s soul to Ho-oh”), but she looks up, startled, when Ruth hands her a bouquet of flowers. She opens her mouth, but Ruth cuts her off, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I’m aware that this is a girly thing to do,” she admits, fiddling with her hands. “But this is a desperate time, I think.” April nods solemnly and places the flowers on the very top, wreathing the box with them. Something about the practiced way April goes about this makes Ruth a little concerned that maybe this isn’t the first time she’s prepared a burial at sea.

After arranging all of the gifts, April stands up and turns to face the crowd at large. “Would anyone like to say any last words?” she asks, addressing them. People shuffle and hem and haw until Yuri steps forward.

“I didn’t use the mirror often, but I know others did,” she says, frail voice surprisingly steady. “It will be dearly missed by all of us…” Squeaking only slightly, she dashes back behind Rise.

“I knew the mirror well,” Keira says politely. “As many of you know, I was taught to sing by it. I will mourn the loss of its companionship during my late hours of cleaning, but I know its absence will be felt by each and every one of us.”

One by one, stories of the mirror bubble from every throat. Reading it stories with April. Showing off swordsmanship skills. Monty recalls sobbing life story after life story, to nods of sympathy from Francis and Ruth herself. Carl goes off on a rather long, rambling tangent about the wishes of a sentient mirror before trailing off, letting Jackson segue into an anecdote about listening to the mirror’s own difficulties.

Samson pauses in the middle of a rather poignant (and weirdly emotional) story about regaining his confidence before blushing and pushing Logan forward. Logan blinks, wide-eyed at the awaiting audience.

“I didn’t actually talk to the mirror,” he says, all quiet. He sure didn’t have a lot of bravado at this hour, considering his pop star thing. “Crazy, I know. But I know it meant a lot to every one of you, and I’ll mourn its loss with you.”

“Love you, Logan,” Cassandra says, pumping her fist. “Great speech. April, I’m gonna turn on the cameras now if that’s okay?”

April nods, finally stepping back from her coffin. “Absolutely. Everyone done?” Nods of assent from the audience as Cassandra turns on her phone.

“Ready.”

April breathes in deeply, then starts to speak.

“Hey, all,” she says, with a halfhearted wave. “So Marta ended up breaking the mirror. We decided we’d have a funeral here, but due to a variety of reasons we didn’t film the actual emotional speeches. But the mirror, as all of you know, was a valued companion to each and every one of us. We’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve given our thanks to it, and now it’s… gone. But every good thing has to come to an end, and so we’re gathered here today.”

Looking up at the night sky, April stands, perfectly still. The lake reflects the stars just as well as the mirror itself would have, if only it were still intact. (And if it were not usually in a mirror frame in the bathroom.) This, Ruth thinks, is a view to rival any urban vista in Unova, but here they are now. Shivering in the cold and preparing for a funeral. Finally, April looks back to the crowd at large, sadness in her eyes.

“We’re ready to say goodbye,” she finishes, and sighs. “Rise, the fire?”

“Got it.” Rise sends out her Torchic in a gleam of light and presses her hands together in prayer as those around her take a step back. “Oh, great Ho-oh,” she laments, closing her eyes. “Please guide us in these dark times of mourning, but envelop our dearest departed’s soul in your noble flame and send its spirit up to the heavens.” Turning to Torchic, she adds, “Use Ember!”

Spitting up a burst of flame, Torchic sets the boat ablaze, and April shoves it out into the lake. A gentle breeze picks up, nudging the boat along until it reaches the middle of the route, at which it stops, smoke billowing up to the stars above. The red powder Rise threw on it earlier catches fire, scattering to the wind with the ashes of the other offerings. Somewhere, Ruth imagines her flowers smoldering, and maybe she catches a faint scent of sweetness on the wind, but who's to say?

The other trailer-mates stand enraptured, staring at the blaze, huddled together for warmth as a stiff breeze comes from over the lake. Faint footsteps come from behind her and Ruth turns to see Marta walking towards them, hand bandaged and in a cast. When she speaks, she sounds disappointed.

“You really did it, didn’t you,” she says softly, walking up to Ruth and scowling. “You did a Sinnohian hero’s funeral for this mirror.”

“Yup,” Ruth says, gazing out into the lake. “It’s fitting, though. That mirror could be considered a hero for everything it’s done for us. Disagree all you want, but it meant a lot to us.”

Heaving a sigh, Marta follows her gaze. “That’s fair, I guess. And I understand that it was a source of bonding and everything, I’m just… frustrated.”

“What for?”

“I was just talking to the reflection as preparation for an argument, and it all got out of hand. I dunno, I guess I’m sort of upset about how everyone thought I was part of all this?” Marta waves her good hand fruitlessly and Ruth nods in sympathy.

“Yeah. Sucks to be misinterpreted. I’m sorry about that.”

“All good.” Marta shrugs with her good arm. “I’m kind of upset that no one asked about my hand, too. I had to get stitches for this and everyone thinks I’m a villain for breaking the mirror now. No one cares about the injuries.”

“How many stitches?” Ruth asks, just to be polite.

“Like, maybe 24 in total? Something like that?” Marta shakes her head. “I wasn’t paying attention, to be honest. As soon as they gave me anaesthetic I got all woozy.”

“That’s probably because you’re tiny.”

“Yup.” Marta shuffles awkwardly. “Well, uh. Sorry for your loss.”

Ruth smiles. “Thanks. Sorry about your hand.”

“But at least there’s fire,” Marta muses. “Unnecessary fire is good.”

“Mm.” Ruth turns to the pyre, which continues to burn. “That it is.”

Several feet away, April stares out into the lake as well. Still holding her phone, Cassandra presses next to her, draping an arm around her shoulders. “That’s all for tonight, folks,” April says, almost to herself. “Cass and April signing off.”

* * *

From then on, Marta was always a little more careful around the place where the mirror once was. Mostly because _ARCEUS_ this hand hurts a lot and she probably shouldn’t be too happy about its “death” or whatever in case it actually was sentient and might come back to haunt her. Yaaaaay. Whatever the consequences, the lack of a mirror makes things a lot more difficult when she tries to fix her hair in the morning. (It might be a bigger problem to some other people who wear makeup, but unfortunately for them, Marta doesn’t care.)

Combing out a knot on her left side (and wincing as she tugs at it), Marta glances to her right and stifles a sigh. Someone decided it’d be a good idea to bring back the urinal shrine thing from last season and rededicated it to the mirror, transferring all of the items around the bare counter to the urinal instead. Which isn’t exactly not appreciated by Marta, but it’d still be a lot nicer if they had been removed altogether, because it’s really irritating to move around in this bathroom with all the extra stuff in it. Rest in pieces, old advice-giving mirror.

Which brought up another concern, actually. If the mirror wasn’t actually sentient, how was it able to play that thing that Logan sang? There’s gotta be a reason behind this, but perhaps it was a lesser mystery for now. Maybe the real mysteries to worry about are “how long until we track down that executive who has our contracts” and “will we ever start this stupid show”? Marta sighs, putting down her comb. Her hair's so short, this really doesn't matter. She’s not sure why she even bothered to brush it in the first place, honestly.

The trailer hits a bump, jostling everyone in it as they travel the route. Marta sways back and forth easily with the motion, more than used to the commotion. Living in a trailer was a lot cooler than living in an apartment. Especially with all the Pokemon and (mostly) cool people. Turning back to the blank board where the mirror was, she taps her bandaged hand on it gently.

“You had a good run,” she tells it, then pauses. The trailer’s movement causes things to rattle, of course, but this sounds… different? Frowning, Marta bats the board to the side and… whoa.

Here’s a medicine cabinet, with… a voice recorder? What’s this doing here? Marta reaches out to grab it in her good hand. Turning it over in her hand, she clicks “play” tentatively, and the room fills with soft crooning and guitar strains. Her knees buckle and she closes her eyes, forcing herself to stay upright.

This entire “sentient mirror” thing was because of a voice recorder. A VOICE RECORDER. Getting turned on and off by everything in the cabinet, from what she can tell. Marta almost crushes the voice recorder in frustration, then pauses. Was this all an elaborate prank? Was this malicious, mean-spirited, or just forgotten about? Whose is this, anyway?

Marta flips it over and reads the label, then curses out loud.

* * *

Cass lies flat on her belly, twirling her hair around her finger and gnawing on a pencil. Song lyrics, as it turns out, are hard to write. Like, she KNOWS this, but it’s still a difficult thing to process.

Didn’t she have a voice recorder with songs from Logan on it a while ago? Whatever happened to that, anyway? Cass shrugs. She’s got plenty of voice recorders, anyway. She’ll probably find them if she tries hard enough. (If.)

The trailer glides to a halt, and Chris’s voice yells at them over the intercom about being at Blackthorn City or something or other. Either way, they’re here for the day, and that’s all that matters at the moment. As the trailer stops, the bathroom door opens with a creak, and Marta steps out, glowering. Geez. Cass can almost feel the electricity rolling off of her. She should have been the Electric-type user. Then Cass could be the Rock one and, again, get an Alolan Geodude. Still should have happened.

“What’s up, Marta?” she calls, realizing that she’s standing right next to her bunk. In response, she throws something at her, which she only catches on reflex.

Marta looks almost disappointed that she didn’t, in fact, bean Cass in the head with a… voice recorder? “I think this is yours,” she says curtly. “And I’m gonna go for a walk. I need it.”

“Sure!” Cass says, waving a hand at her and staring at her voice recorder. “Hey, I was just thinking about looking for this voice recorder! Thanks, Marts!” Marta just glares at her and leaves the trailer. What a spoilsport.

Turning on her voice recorder, Cass closes her eyes and listens to the first few seconds of the music. This is distilled inspiration, right here. Yes. She smiles and gets to work.

* * *

Hopefully, Cassandra won’t notice until later that the voice recorder had the whole “Chef crying over an Igglybuff” thing on it. Marta wants to be there to see that, honestly. That sounds like a fun thing to watch, or maybe record. Ha.

She steps outside of the trailer, stretching in the sun. Blackthorn City, huh? Dragons and all that? Francis must be delighted. Flipping over her injured hand, she winces at the stitches pulling against her skin and decides what she wants to do while in town. Uh, there’s a gym, a Pokemon Center, the Dragon’s Den (which is useless to her, no Psychic-types)...

“Hey, Marta?”

Marta whirls around to see Logan approaching her hesitantly. She places her good hand on her hip and sighs. Ugh, she does NOT want to deal with him today, but fine. “What.”

“So how about that mirror,” he says, expression neutral, and she rolls her eyes.

“Well,” she says sarcastically, “if you’ve heard what basically everyone’s said about me and the mirror, you’ll learn that I hated it. A lot. I’m sure you have ears, Logan _Diamond_.”

Logan leans against the girl’s side of the trailer and smiles a little. “I thought it was pretty stupid, too, Marta _Ryan,_ ” he says. “Of course, you saw to it that I never actually got a chance to talk to it.”

“Yeah.” Despite herself, Marta grins. “I mean, I’ve been hanging out with Simun, and I’m pretty sure he kept bringing up the mirror just to mess with me. I figured it was nice to keep at least _one_ person out of this mess. Even if it is you.”

“Mhm.” Logan shoves his hands in his pockets. “But was the mirror actually sentient or possessed?”

“Not as far as I know,” Marta says. “I found a voice recorder behind the mirror, though. Turns out Cassandra stuck it there.”

To her surprise, Logan’s eyes widen. “I… think I may have something to do with that, then,” he says. “She wanted me to help her with her songs, because I’m a pop star and everything-”

Oh, right, he IS. And there goes her mood. And this conversation.

“That’s right!” she says, irked. “You ARE a pop star. With your high and mighty ‘I’m famous now, so I’m free of blame’ attitude!”

Logan groans in aggravation. “This isn’t even the first time we’ve HAD this conversation, Marta. Give it a rest.”

“You don’t even remember the stupid things you’ve done, do you?” she accuses him, jabbing a finger at his chest, feeling a fierce sense of glee as he puts his hands up in surrender. “You’re just another stupid pop star with your posse to do everything you want them to do! Your music sucks, too!”

Huffing angrily, Logan backs away from the trailer. “If we can’t have a rational conversation, I’m going to leave.”

“Fine!” Marta says. “Go! Get outta here!”

Smug, she watches him walk back to the boy’s trailer, then turns away. Blackthorn City has some pretty scenic views outside of the tourist attractions, now that she thinks about it. Maybe she’ll just wander around and take in the sights. Yeah, that’s sounding pretty good, she can go burn off some steam. Train Natu a little if she feels like it. And she got some sick burns in on Logan, so pretty good day: _achieved_.

Wait, didn’t she use all of those insults while arguing with the mirror in the first place?

...

Dammit.

**Author's Note:**

> Credits to the original idea of the Mirror AU go to the Region Trotters Discord.
> 
> The book titles mentioned by Vecepia and April were taken from the Tumblr blog bland-pokemon-headcanons.  
> The line of "What Makes You Beautiful" quoted by Logan was blatantly stolen from One Direction so I don't own that either.  
> The line sung by Logan "to" Samson was written by CoGreen20.  
> The line sung "to" Marta as well as the title for Fairest Maiden was written by me. Just clarifying that.


End file.
